Aragorn's Slight Failings
by Rosepoison
Summary: Companion piece to Legolas Little Foibles. Now that our favorite elf has taken some hits, and had a few secrets exposed, it's Estel's time to share the blame. Hey, no one's pefect. Rated for blood and gore described in the first story, and a little in the second. Zero pairings.


Ya know what? Estel, Aragorn, or whatever you want to call him, has taken quite a few hits in his years. If it's not people commenting on how he smells (what do you expect from a rugged traveller?) it's cracks about his hair. Sometimes he'll even get tactless comments about how the name "Estel" is awfully comments are usually accompanied by the floor being died red.

Aragorn's ruined many a carpet this way, as Legolas will be quick to tell you.

**Example 1:**

Another thing Legolas has noticed about his friend is how the man smells after a fight. The only thing the archer can say about it without going into a long, discriptive, and possibly nausiating passage, is that his friend smells like a rotting warg.

Will Estel do anything about it? Even when they get to a nice, refreshing stream? No. He'll say they need to put in X number of miles in before they can bathe, or risk another attack.

And, inevitably, the warg-smell can ony get worse with each mile, each drop of sweat, each - well, nevermind, you get the picture. The man needs to drastically increase his use of soap. Now.

The Elvish prince can remember one incident in particular. They'd just finished a long, hard, exhausting, and otherwise sweat-inducing battle with about fifty Orcs and heaven knows how many wargs.

Alright, so maybe it was twenty, point is, they shouldn't have made it out alive, were dripping in blood and persperation, and otherwise miserable. Not to mention injured and bleeding.

Fun being the Chosen Ones, isn't it?  
Ugh_ . . ._ moving on.

About half a mile from the battlefield, Legolas, mercifully, discovered a half-decent stream. Upon finding it, revelling in their luck, and finishing cleaning their injuries, the elf got the shock of his life.

Strider told them to move on.

They were literally covered in orc blood. Really. Their boots squished when they walked, their hair was dyed a poisonous blackish-purple, and Legolas was seriously wondering if his dagers would ever be the same color again.

And Aragorn had just told them to pack up and leave.

"Estel, we're tired. We're caked in orc filth. We need a rest. **_I_** need a rest." The Elf prince cringed at his own voice, how it sounded something a . . . ugh . . . pleading child . . . To this day, he'd rather not think of what his face must have looked like.

"That's exactly why we have to keep moving, Mellon nin. We can't risk another attack in this condition."

"WE CAN HARDLY MOVE IN THIS CONDITION." Legolas mentally slapped himself for raising his voice in such a manor, but it had to be said . . . if not a bit more quietly . . .

"Blast it, Legolas, we have to _move_. No matter what it takes. Another attack like that . . . we can't afford to lose anyone . . ." the Man's lips quirked upwards into a smirk. "And certainly not our-high and mighty archer-"

"-Without whom you'd be dead and buried," Legolas finished, begining to smile himself.

"Fine, fine. And I suppose you'll be no use to us exhausted and layed out on the grass during a fight, either."

"Up, up, up. Stop right there, Mellon nin, I could last twice as long as any of you humans," the Elf looked down at his suspiciously quiet teammates. "And probably even longer than any of these _Hobbits._"

Strider raised an eyebrow at this. Then opened his mouth, and, with two words, declared war.

"Prove it."

By the end of the day, the Fellowship had traveled seventy-five miles, and Legolas and Estel smelled worse than any one human can describe.

**Example 2:**

One of Aragorn's more interesting habits, if not potentially deadly, is that he can sometimes forget who he's dealing with, thusly expecting you to read his mind in the heat of battle. Gandalf, eternally wise, has noticed this. Though it doesn't happen to often, it can lead to some . . . embarrassing accidents:

_Estel and Legolas give each other a "look", then, by some hidden magic, start a deadly dance around their enemies. They pounce and shoot, slice and dive, leaving nothing breathing in their wake._

_Then, Aragorn slips (probably on the leaves, now slick with blood), and falls. This throws Legolas off his mark, and their little shimmy of slaughter grinds to a hault. _

_The Orcs retaliate with surprising speed. _

_. . ._

_Later that night, when the ranger and bowman's respective bacon has been saved, and wounds bandaged, answers are sought. _

_"Estel, what happened back there? One minute we're driving the Orcs to an early grave, the next it's all we can do to not be trampled underfoot."_

_Gandalf notes that the Elf's leg is still hurting him greatly, as he can't seem to stop massaging it. He also notes, from the look on Aragorn's face, that the ranger has seen this as well._

_"I-I slipped. I was being foolish. We had them on the run . . . then I slipped . . . Legolas, I really am truly sorry for your leg . . . It was my fault. I can't deny that."_

_"Come now, Mellon nin, it isn't that bad. The arrow wasn't even poisoned." Gandalf a mentally chuckles at the look of horror that passes over Strider's face. (Not that the thought hadn't crossed the Man's mind, it's just that he'd recently stopped beating himself up over that possibility and Legolas brought it up all over again.)_

_"Besides, how could I be mad at you, Estel? Not only because of that puppy-left-out-in-the-rain-look you're giving me," the Fellowship sniggers at this unmercifully "but because you, quite honestly, got hurt worse than I did."_

_The company's collective gaze travels to the wounded ranger, currently lying on his side. To be precise, it travels to the seat of pants, where, a few hours previous, an Orc arrow was somewhat comically sticking out. _

_Ouch._

_**Example 3**_

Even Merry has observed a thing or two about Aragorn. Not all of it good.

For one thing, he keeps his sword cleaner than Legolas' hair. And not just when it's convenient - like Legolas does - but perpetually clean. When lithe Man look like a living mudball his weapon gleams like a moonbeam.

And he manages to (mostly) do this when no-one's looking.

The ranger has a habit of keeping to himself more than other people, but that's just scary.

Now, he has a perfectly logical explanation for doing that - take care of your weapon and it'll take care of you. (a Took once told Merry that.) But that blade could be used as a mirror. Now that he thinks of it, Merry remembers a time when it WAS used as a mirror.

. . .

The Fellowship plods through a dry forest, knowing full well they look like the wrath of God, but not particularly caring.

"One more comment from ANY of you younglings about how much grime I'm covered in and I'll shoot the lot of you!"

Mostly . . .*

"Sheathe your blade. We won't be attacked." Gimli growls from under his breath.

"Hn? What's the matter? We've so far gathered three rabbits and a hedgehog since I've had my sword at the ready. And, now that I think about it, we haven't been in a fight for at least three days, so we should probably expect a fight."

"I said _we **will**_ not _be **attacked**._ Do not _worry_." the dwarf's speach in stilted, and puts the Fellowship on their guard.

Merry gets the picture fast, though, when he sees the Lockbearer and Elf exchange a conspiritorial wink.

_Something is about to go down. It involves a fight, certainly, as Aragorn has yet to put away his prize weapon. The enemy must be stupid, as they did not attack as soon as Gimli opened his mouth, but strong, and the dwarf thought it nessesary to take them by surprise. _

Orcs.

Oh, dear.

. . .

The Fellowship continues on for a while longer, their nerves slowly grinding down to powder, until Legolas leaps for an overhanging treebranch . . .

Then lands on the wrong leg and comes crashing to the forest floor like some sort of flying seal.

The chaos decends upon them like a cloud. Orcs come from nowhere, armed to the teeth, weapons gleaming, shined and polished with the best bacon grease money can buy.

. . .

These clean, lean, otherwise intelligent-looking Orcs are taken out surprisingly easily.

. . .

Later that night, when the Elf prince's now broken leg in bandaged, and he's lectured mercilessly about looking before he leaps, and Strider has properly sterilized his sword, Gimli is asked how he ever figured out they were being followed.

"Simple. You could see the buggers a mile off too, if you had that thing shinin' light in your eyes. Every third tree, when the sun wasn't visible, those Orcs came in clear as could be."

_Point: Aragorn. _

. . .

Please note that I don't honestly think Legolas is a wimp. Let alone a wimp that can't stand a little mud. It's just that a long day of travel, a bit too much of Pippin and Merry's comments, and a sore leg have got the elf a wee bit on edge.*


End file.
